Loyalties
by FreerunnerChez
Summary: When Ed is confronted by a gunman in his home, he will soon find his loyalties and those of his family called into question. Set season 2-ish. Reviews, good and bad, appreciated
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Flashpoint or any of its characters. Unfortunately. Maybe someone could gift-wrap Ed for me for Christmas :)

**Warnings: **Rated T for some coarse language in places, and some violence

**Author Note: **I'd just like to thank my fabulous beta reader **HazelTree019**, without whom this would be an unintelligible mess! Thanks Hazel.

* * *

"Clark, don't forget your homework!" Ed called up the stairs to his son. Sophie was on early starts for the next week – her catering company had managed to land a big contract at the Royal York hotel. It meant that Ed would have to take responsibility for organising their son to school each day – though Ed was sure that when he was Clark's age he hadn't needed organising. It was the first day of the temporary arrangement, and already it was obvious that Sophie's delicate hand was needed to keep the household running smoothly. Clark was running late and Ed had agreed to drop him to school en route to work.

"I've got it Dad," Clark replied in a distinctly bored voice.

"Books, gym kit, lunch?" Ed quizzed as he walked up the stairs, trying to remember if Clark actually _had_ gym today. He heard Clark curse as he passed the boy's room, and called out:

"And watch your language."

Clark muttered something in return that Ed pretended not to hear as he walked into his own room. A cold breeze blew across his neck and he suppressed a shudder as he clicked the door shut. He crossed to the window to pull it shut, and froze. He hadn't opened the window.

"Keep your hands where I can see them, and turn around slowly."

The voice was cold and calm, and this gave Ed hope. Calm people could be reasoned with. Sometimes. He did as he was instructed, keeping his hands by his sides. His pistol – one of several throughout the house – was locked in the bedside cabinet. He knew there was no way he could get to it. His eyes finally fell on the man invading his home, and took him in swiftly. He wore dark jeans, a non-descript windbreaker, and a mask. But most importantly, he held a handgun, and it was aimed at Ed's chest.

"You want to tell me what this is about?" he asked the intruder.

"I want," the man replied, "you to step away from the window and put your hands behind your head."

Ed took a slow step to the side, but kept his hands by his sides. From the corner of his eye, he saw movement: a figure stepping from the en-suite bathroom. Ed kept his attention on the man in front of him.

"I need you to tell me what you want so I can help you."

"You need to put your hands on your head, now." The voice was dangerously low, and Ed was about to reply when the bedroom door creaked and swung open to reveal Clark.

"Dad, have you seen…" He stopped mid-sentence, hand still on the door knob, as he saw the two armed men. His eyes widened and he started to take a step back.

"Don't move!" shouted the man from the bathroom, advancing on the boy. Clark instinctively obeyed, looking uncertainly to his Dad for guidance.

"It's ok Clark, just do what they say. Everything's going to be fine," Ed assured him with a confidence he did not feel. The second man gripped Clark's school shirt and dragged him into the room. Ed bristled but did not move. To his captors, he said:

"Just take what you want and leave."

"Not what," the intruder corrected him. "Who."

Ed's heart pounded against his ribcage as the implication sunk in. He had to protect Clark, no matter the cost. He directed all his attention to the man in front of him, any thoughts of resistance gone.

"I'm the one you want. You don't need him. Just take me. I won't fight you."

"You're right," the man said, but before Ed could breath a sigh of relief, he added, "You won't fight us. Not if you want your son to live. Now put your hands behind your head."

Ed slowly obeyed, his eyes frantically scanning the room for something, anything, he could use as a weapon. The vase? No, it would leave him unarmed after he'd struck the first gunman. Wire coat hanger? No, it would take too long to slide it over the man's head. What, then? Finally he was forced to conclude that there was no weapon he could use to disarm both men without risking Clark getting caught in the crossfire. And that wasn't a risk he was prepared to take.

"Now what?" the man holding Clark hissed at his comrade. "The kid wasn't supposed to be here."

"Doesn't matter. We take them both. The cop ain't gonna give us any trouble if he knows it'll get his son killed."

Ed inhaled sharply. They knew he was a cop. Was that what this was about, something to do with his job? Revenge maybe? Whatever it was, he couldn't let Clark get caught up in the middle of it.

"I'll do whatever you want, just let him go."

"You will shut your mouth," the man warned him, advancing on the cop. He stopped, and abruptly swung his weapon to point at Clark. "Or you know what'll happen."

Ed fought a wave of nausea and nodded. For now he had no choice but to go along with what the intruders wanted.

"Good," his captor replied. "This is what's gonna happen. We're gonna wait here while Clark goes outside with my buddy. In a couple of minutes, we're going to follow them. You give us any trouble and your boy's dead. You're the one we want, I have no problem killing him. Understand?"

Ed nodded again. He watched as the second gunman leaned forward and whispered something into Clark's ear. The boy's terror-stricken eyes widened, and he nodded numbly. Ed forced himself to remain calm as the man steered his son out of the room, tucking his weapon into his waistband.

The cop pushed his own panic down and focussed his attention on the man in front of him. He didn't doubt these men would hurt Clark, and so kept his hands behind his head, and resisted the urge to make a grab for the gun. His captor stepped towards the window, motioning Ed to step back.

Time crept passed until finally Ed's captor let the curtain drop with a nod.

"Let's go. There's a van outside. You're going to get in the back. Don't turn around, don't try to warn anyone. Try to fight me and your boy's dead. Understand?"

Ed nodded.

"Good. Get moving."

The pair moved through the house. The gunman kept behind the cop, allowing a short distance to develop between them. Ed could feel the man's eyes boring into the back of his skull, but fought to urge to turn round. As he reached the door he could hear clothes rustling and knew that the gunman was concealing his weapon and removing his mask – he clearly didn't want to risk alerting the neighbours. Ed paused for only a moment as his eyes picked out the unmarked white van waiting outside his house, and then walked towards it. Though he looked calm, his heart was racing and his mouth was dry. Every nerve in his body was screaming at him to resist, but he didn't. He couldn't. He knew he should find a way to stop the gunmen taking them off to somewhere no one would find them, but how could he do that without putting Clark at greater risk? And how could he justify endangering Clark further?

He swung open the van doors, and everything changed. Clark lay inside, unmoving. Ed jumped in and sunk to the floor beside his son.

"Clark?" he croaked.

"He's alive," his captor told him from behind as the doors swung shut loudly. A wave of relief washed over the father as his fingers detected the slow and steady pulse.

"What have you done to him?" he demanded, turning to the gunman who had already pulled his mask back on.

"He's sedated," the man answered. "Just in case you were thinking of trying something." Ed stared down at his unconscious son. The sedative had obviously been intended for him, but they had used it on his son to deter him from any sort of escape attempt. His mind was reeling from the events of the last 10 minutes, but their impressive level of organisation had not escaped his notice. His stomach lurched at the implications, but he drew a deep breath and forced himself to remain calm. Beside him, the gunman produced a pair of handcuffs and held them out.

"Put them on." Ed stared at the metal bracelets and accepted them mutely. He snapped them shut around his wrists obediently, avoiding eye contact. He did not trust himself to speak, and so stared back down at Clark.

The gunman tapped his weapon twice against the van's metallic wall, and the vehicle rolled away into the unknown.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Ed didn't know where he was. He didn't know how long the van had been travelling for. Above all, he didn't know how it had come to this – or why. For each unending second of the journey he cradled Clark's head protectively in his lap. He didn't know what sedative they had pumped into his system, or if the boy would have a reaction to it.

Edward Lane was not a man who liked uncertainty. He was not a man to sit idly by while those he cared about were in danger. Not when he could do something about it. Not that he _could_ do anything about it, and that was what scared him most. To be so helpless when his son needed him.

He had tried twice to speak to his captor in order to discover why they had been taken, but both times his attempts had been brushed aside. He had discarded his earlier notion of revenge as a motive: neither he nor Clark had been treated roughly, and nothing about the gunmen suggested they were enjoying this. That, at least, gave Ed some comfort.

The van hit a bump in the road and Clark coughed. Ed's eyes jerked back down the sedated boy. He coughed again, and then started to choke. Panicked, Ed rolled him onto his side, the simple movement inhibited by the restrictive hand cuffs. Vomit leaked from his mouth and the cop began to rub his back, completely out of his depth and unsure of what he should do. All he knew was that he had to help his son, somehow. He shot a frustrated glance at his captor.

"Side effect," the man said without interest. "It'll pass."

Ed forced his eyes downward so they could not betray his anger. He was used to encountering this casual callousness in his line of work, and he knew anger would not help him. He would ease Clark's suffering the only way he knew how – respect, connect, protect. He sought in his mind a point of connection, but the subject had given him nothing to work with. Everything Ed had said and done had been met with cold professionalism. The gunman had understood instantly that Clark was the key to Ed's co-operation, and exploited that fact mercilessly. This man took pride in his work, and that was something Ed could understand.

"You've gone to a lot of trouble to make sure no one was hurt. I appreciate that."

"They teach you to say that at the SRU?" his captor asked coldly. Ed suppressed his surprise before it showed on his face, and changed tack.

"Yeah," he answered honestly. "Doesn't mean it isn't true though." He saw the man's face crease into a brief smile beneath the mask in response.

"You're good," he admitted begrudgingly. "But d'you really think you're going to talk me into letting you go?" Ed could hear the scepticism in his voice.

"I don't care what happens to me," the cop answered softly, glancing down at Clark. "Just my son."

"And if I let him go, you lose your incentive to behave."

"You didn't know he was going to be there. He wasn't part of your plan – what difference does it make if you let him go? It's me you want."

"Because he can't be trusted to keep his mouth shut till this is over. Either he comes with us, or we kill him." He paused and met Ed's eye. "I think I know which you'd rather."

Ed nodded. "You seem to know a lot about me," he observed.

"I know enough."

"Dad?" Ed's eyes snapped down to his son.

"It's ok Clark, I'm here."

Clark started pushing himself into a sitting position. Ed reached out to help him, his movements hampered by the handcuffs. The glinting metal caught Clark's eye.

"What's going on?" His eyes shifted to the gunman and widened as he remembered what was happening.

"Clark," Ed said, drawing his son's gaze back onto himself. He didn't want the boy's dazed stare to be misinterpreted as a challenge. "Look at me. You're going to be fine. Ok?" Clark nodded shakily in response.

"Enough," the gunman cut across them, reasserting his authority. The cop acknowledged it immediately with a slight nod. He squeezed Clark's shoulder reassuringly, aware of how close to panic the boy was.

A few minutes passed before the van slowed to a halt. The engine cut and suddenly they were enveloped in silence. On cue, the gunman produced two small sacks and tossed one to each of the captives.

"Put them on," he ordered, levelling the gun at Ed. The cop knew he was anticipating resistance. He made his face passive, not allowing his eyes to betray the illogical panic welling in his stomach; if either of their captors intended to hurt them, there would be no need to mask them first. He lowered the hessian sack over his head, its musky odour immediately crowding his nostrils. The smell and the sudden darkness were suffocating. He could feel the heat and moisture of his breath inside the sack, but forced himself to ignore the discomfort. The driver's door slammed, and the sound seemed amplified to Ed's ears. He listened intently to the footsteps approaching the back of the vehicle, and the creak as the doors swung open. Fresh air rushed into the vehicle, discernable even through the hood.

"You first." A hand seized his jacket, and he rose as steadily as he could without the aid of his eyesight and hands. He allowed himself to be steered out of the van, almost loosing his footing but for the hand gripping him. They moved away from the van, and within a few steps Ed felt the ground under his feet change from rough to smooth. The air rushing around him was silenced. They were inside. The hand kept moving him forwards and he offered no resistance, aware that to do so would jeopardise Clark's safety. He counted the steps as they advanced deeper into the building, fixing the position of the entrance in his mind. The hand jerked him to a halt.

Hinges creaked and a door in front of him swung open.

"Steps," the voice warned him. He proceeded forward cautiously, feeling his way down a staircase that groaned beneath him. When he reached the bottom the hand on his shoulder guided him forwards again. He could feel it was colder down here, but not unbearably so – a basement maybe. He walked twenty paces before a jerk on his shoulder halted him. The hand released him. He waited.

"Turn around."

He did as he was instructed, turning slowly on the spot until he faced the way he had come.

"Sit down."

Again, he did as he was ordered, cautiously lowering himself to the floor, disorientated by his lack of vision and unsettled by the inability to use his hands. The ground beneath him was concrete, cold and smooth. A hand grasped his forearm, and he forced himself to relax, working against his instincts that told him to resist the contact. Something cold and metallic closed around his wrist. He heard it click shut and felt the hand release its grip on him. A key scraped inside the handcuffs, and then they were removed, leaving only the new cuff restraining him. At last, the sack was pulled from his head. He kept his eyes averted, aware the gunman would be looking for any sign of defiance.

In the dim lighting he looked at the cuff around his wrist, similar to a handcuff. It was connected to a chain maybe six feet in length, bolted into the bare brick wall near the base. A couple of feet away a radiator was installed, probably the only source of heat in the room. Again Ed was struck by the gunmen's level of organisation. He knew beyond doubt that this had been planned for some time.

His captor had moved several steps back – out of the range of Ed's chain. The man pulled a phone from his pocket and held it to his ear.

"He's secure. Bring the kid." His attention quickly returned to his captive.

"Don't get any ideas about that chain," he warned. "You know what will happen."

"I'm not going to give you any trouble," Ed said, making eye contact. "I just want my son to stay safe."

"You do what I say, and he'll be fine."

The door creaked and swung open. Ed's heart skipped a beat as he saw Clark appear in the doorway, guided by the other gunman. He watched his son's precarious journey down the steps. Once the boy slipped, and Ed twitched forwards before remembering himself. The man's grip on Clark's shoulder stopped him falling.

"What do we do with the kid?" the second gunman asked when he reached the bottom of the stairs. Their set-up had assumed only one hostage; they were improvising. Ed's captor glanced around the room.

"The radiator," he said, holding out the handcuffs. His companion nodded and steered Clark towards the heater. He secured him to the copper pipe that vanished into the floor, and then removed his hood. The boy looked around him frantically until his gaze fell on his father. Ed held his eye but said nothing.

A movement caught the cop's attention, and he turned to see the first gunman pulling out a phone that he recognised as his Blackberry. He must have taken it when he broke into the house. The man tossed him his phone; Ed caught it easily, but did nothing, waiting for the gunman to tell him what he wanted.

"Call the SRU. Tell them you won't be in today," he was ordered. The man levelled his gun at Clark's head. Ed got the message, and chose his words carefully as the phone rang.

"Strategic Response Unit." Ed recognised Sydney's greeting. He knew at once there was no chance of passing a message to him – it was too dangerous for Clark.

"Hey Sydney, it's Ed."

"Is everything ok?" Sydney asked, clearly surprised to be hearing the sniper on the phone rather than seeing him walk into the station. Ed glanced at Clark. The gunman pressed the weapon against the boy's head. Ed couldn't bear to see the fear on his son's face, but couldn't tear his eyes away either.

"Yeah. Yeah, everything's fine. I'm feeling rough. I'm gonna get checked over, can you let the boss know?"

"Sure thing Ed."

"Thanks." Ed ended the call and shifted his gaze to the gunman. He lowered the weapon.

"Good. Now call Clark's school. Tell them he's not feeling well."

Ed did this, leaving a message on the school's voicemail when no-one answered.

The gunman plucked the phone from his unresisting hand and dropped it on the floor. Ed watched in silence as he stamped on it, and wondered how much impact the internal GPS could take before it would be untraceable. His captor scooped up the remains, then levelled his gun at the cop, and called out to his partner.

"Use the kid for the photo. Make him bleed."

"No!" Ed cried in alarm, making eye contact with his captor. "Whatever you've got to do, do it to me. Please."

The pistol whipped down into Ed's face. Ed grunted in pain, his head spinning from the blow, but he didn't retaliate. He felt blood seep from the wound on his forehead and gritted his teeth as it started to throb.

"Don't think I'm always going to be this accommodating," the gunman warned him. He caught the camera as his comrade tossed it through the air. Understanding, Ed looked calmly into the lens as his captor took the photo. He wondered who it would be sent to.

The gunmen headed towards the stairs. One turned and pointed out a cctv camera covering the hostages.

"We'll be watching," he warned. Without another word, the pair walked out, leaving father and son alone together in the semi-darkness.

"Dad?"

Ed heard all of the fear and desperation in his son's plea. He instinctively reached out to comfort him, only to be checked by the cuff on his wrist. Frustration flashed through him: how _dare_ they? They'd broken into his home, abducted them both, risked Clark's life with a sedative, chained them up like animals in the dark; and they hadn't even allowed him enough slack to comfort his son. But it wasn't his anger that Clark needed right now.

"It's going to be ok Clark," he told him. "You're doing great."

"I'm scared."

"I know you are. I know. You just need to stay calm, ok? We're going to be fine."

The boy nodded and sniffed.

"I'm sorry Dad. If I hadn't been late today…"

"No," Ed interrupted quickly, feeling faintly sick. "Listen to me Clark, this is not your fault. It's not your fault, you hear me?"

Clark nodded again.

"Good." He broke eye contact and looked up at the camera watching them.

"We're going to get out of this, I promise."


End file.
